


Roadside Manner (AKA Dean Is Sick)

by SentimentalDefect



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Colds, F/M, Pneumonia, Sick!Dean, angsty sickfics, but i promise i will try my best, idek how many ways we can make dean suffer, let's see how many times we can make dean miserable, naughty sickfics, nothing but sickfics, sam makes an appearance too, sickfics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 23:56:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1877289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SentimentalDefect/pseuds/SentimentalDefect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dean is sick, sniffly, grumpy, miserable, or otherwise unwell, and someone special steps in to give him a hand. (Sometimes in more ways than one.) Consider this a massive portfolio of "let's torture Dean" with a smattering of worried!Sam. Open to requests/prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aqua-Therapy

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so I might have a teensy tiny obsession with Sick Dean. After plowing through all of the sickfics I could possibly find, I decided it was about time to start contributing by writing my own, so here we are. 
> 
> This will be a multi chapter fic comprising of unrelated, self-contained story arcs within each chapter unless otherwise specified. I would like to give a great big shout out to both Mad Server & Anilkex, both of whom have hugely inspired me to write this collection. 
> 
> This story is modeled after Anilkex's "You Are The Third Winchester" series, which can be found on both her AO3 and FF accounts. Within my universe, the "third winchester" is not a sister, but simply a nameless, faceless heroine designed purely to serve as the reader, and provide you with a little more intimate coddling of Dean. I promise, she doesn't interfere with the plot. Reviews much appreciated, and prompts are cheerfully welcome at any time.

They've been sitting on the bed for quite some time now, both staring at the TV without really seeing it, her fingers stroking soft circles down Sam's back as he breathes heavily through his mouth. Both he and Dean have seen sick for a few days now, both reduced to hacking, spluttering messes and both trying fruitlessly to pass it off on the weather, dust, or (in one very feeble attempt of Dean's), cats. 

However, it had all come to a head today when she had awoken to the sound of Sam's retching, and stumbled into the bathroom to find the younger Winchester shivering on the bathroom floor, face flushed and eyes fever-bright. Dean hadn't been far behind, and by late morning she had taken up a permanent residence in Sam's bed, Dean nestled on one side and Sam on the other. It had been nice for a few hours, the three of them dozing lazily, Sam's head warm and heavy in her lap and Dean's warm cheek pressed into her shoulder blade. However, as the hours passed, Dean seemed to become more and more fidgety, switching sides every few minutes and slapping away her attempts at humor with ill-natured contempt. Sam fell asleep sometime after the second round of Nyquil, soft snoring filling the room. This seemed to only agitate Dean further, and finally he had stormed out, locking himself in the bathroom, some vague explanation of wanting a shower trailing behind him as he slammed the door.

She peeks down at Sam's sleeping form, smiling as she takes in the gigantic man sprawled across her lap. She ventures a soft kiss onto his forehead, melting when he sighs, very quietly, a happy little hum of contentment into her thigh. It's remarkable how many years illness has taken off of Sam, how much softer and younger he looks, unmarred by the pain and heartbreak thrust onto him from adolescence. His nose is pink and chapped, cheeks a little sallow beneath the tan, but still he looks more at peace than she's seen him in a long time. Not happy, per say, but at ease. For once unburdened by the weight of the world, and free to spend this one day curled up in bed, safe and taken care of, instead of the other way round. She figures she ought to check on Dean and shifts as though to get up. Sam's fingers tighten on the blankets around her knees, mumbles something that sounds like "stay". 

"I'm just going to check on Dean." She whispers, squeezing his hand. "Be right back."

She slides out of bed with practiced skill, tucking the blankets more tightly around Sam's shivering form and padding gently over to the bathroom door. She doesn't bother knocking, but slides open the little door and slips inside, shutting it behind her so as not to bother Sam. 

She is met by a very grumpy Dean, curled up in a ball in the corner of the room. 

"What'r you doing n' here?" Dean's voice is a good octave lower than normal, and he sounds like he's been gargling glass. 

"What are you doing in here?" She quips back, taking in the bundled heap sitting on the floor. Watery green eyes glare back at her, promptly closing again as Dean sneezes twice into his hoodie and curses. "What happened to that shower?"

He shrugs. "Too much work. Jus' wanna sleep." He wipes his dripping nose on the sleeve of the hoodie, sniffling loudly. She sits down next to him, back against the wall, keen eyes soaking him in. 

"Have you taken any more tylenol?" 

He shakes his head. "Doh." 

"You should."

Another shake. 

"It'll make you feel better."

"Ids dot helbind ad dall." Through the congestion he sounds exhausted. She knows neither of them have slept much in the past few days, but Dean really hasn't caught more than an hour since the sinus pain started kicking in last night. He sniffs again and winces, and she takes this as a sign that he feels a lot worse than is letting on. 

"How's the nose?" 

He moans, buries his face into her shoulder. She can feel him shivering, and frowns when she hears a bit of sniffling from under the snuffly breathing. 

"Aw, babe..." 

She squeezes his arm, traces circles around his back. 

"I hade dis."

"I know." She pauses. "Come back to bed, you'll feel better if--"

"DOH." 

"Dean, come on, don't be stupid--"

"Cand sleep adyway. Wond help." He snaps. They are both silent for a minute, until Dean's anger seems to relent a little and he glances up at her, puppy-dog eyes remorseful.

"Sorry."

"It's okay."

"Feel like shid."

"I know." She gives a little almost smile, and Dean gives another congested snort, sounding utterly miserable as he hacks for a few seconds before flopping bonelessly back onto her shoulder, moaning. 

"You aren't going to feel better laying around on the floor, you know."

Another shrug. "Id's warmb." 

She looks at him, incredulous. "In here?"

He nods, shakily. "Ride over the heading vendt." 

She can't help but chuckle a little at this, but her laughter is promptly stopped by another wave of bone-rattling coughs. Dean convulses with each one, clutching his ribs as they tear through him, breath coming in wheezy little gasps until he is practically panting. 

"Whoa there..." She squeezes his hand firmly as the hacking slowly dies down, finally leaving Dean clammy and exhausted, slumped over her legs. 

"That cough sounds pretty bad."

"Yeah."

"Hurt much?"

"Dot too bad." 

She takes this to mean "pretty fucking bad", and decides on a new plan of action. 

"You should take a shower.”

Dean moans.

"Feel good on your chest.”

He fidgets. "Too tired…"

"Hey, you said yourself you can't sleep like this. The steam will help loosen up all that  
shit in your lungs so you can sleep." 

A mumble. 

"Fine, well, I'm going to take a shower then.”

She soots up, makes her way to standing and flips on the hot water in the shower. Instantly steam begins to fill the small room, and Dean perks up slightly. 

"You really goind to get ind?" 

She cocks an eyebrow and shimmies off her jeans and tee, giving him a slight grin before stepping under the hot spray. The water feel nice, and instantly begins to iron out the knots in her shoulders and back from sitting in bed with the boys all day. She tips back her head, lets the water rush over her face and hair, dark strands flattering against her skull to the steady pound of water on her back. Distantly, she can hear the sound of a zipper and the shuffle of fabric, and after a moment the glass door is pulled open to reveal a very naked Dean. 

"Boove ober." 

She makes what little space she can in the little shower, pulls the door closed behind him. Already he's shivering, and so pushes him under the spray, wrapping her around around behind him and planting a kiss onto the smooth, damp skin of a bicep. She lets her hands wander, fingers tracing across the muscular plane of chest and torso, up to his neck and shoulders. Dean lets out a little moan of approval, which she takes to mean her plan so far is working. The two of them stand under the steamy water, enjoying the sensation of the pressure pounding against tired skin, as she gently soaps up Dean's shoulders and torso, washing away any lingering traces of illness, taking a quiet pleasure in feeling him loosen up ender her hands, until finally he is practically wilting at her touch, and she flips off the water. 

"Here." She hands him a fluffy towel from the rack, grabbing another one for herself. The bathroom is warm and steamy, and together they begin to dry off. She blow dries his hair until it is just the slightest bit damp, and kisses his neck with a sort of reverence before slipping back into the bedroom for clothes. A moment later she had returned, and they dress, before stumbling back to Sam's bed and slipping beneath the sheets. 

It's the same as earlier (Sam on her left, Dean on her right,) only this time both boys are still and silent, comfortably cuddled against her chest, and she can't help but smile when Dean's grip on her hand relaxes, breath evening out as sleep takes over. She begins to hum, quietly, an old tune her mum used to sing when she was a little girl, fingers carding through two heads of hair as she sings into the peaceful darkness of the room, until she too begins to feel her eyelids sag. As sleep pulls her under she gives each boy a squeeze, a silent promise that she will be here tomorrow when they wake up, because tonight, she's not going anywhere.


	2. Forgiveness

She starts abruptly, head jerking up from its perch against the Impala window and glancing fuzzily around the car interior. Sam has awoken too, head bobbing up and off her shoulder at the sudden external stimulus that neither can pinpoint. There's a sudden snorting sound from the driver's seat- wet and thick and nasty sounding - followed by two deep sneezes muffled into a leather sleeve. 

"HUSHO! HETCHO!" 

"You sound like shit." She mumbles, pulling Sam closer to her and taking a mental note to pick up some theraflu at the next gas station. 

Dean’s ears turn slightly pink and he sniffles, turning away from the rearview mirror as if hoping that looking away will sufficiently hide his illness. ”Takes one to know one." Dean replies lamely, coughing into a fist and sniffling again, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks.

Neither she nor Sam seem to notice, both too sleepy and bored to bother looking up, let alone observe Dean’s discomfort. 

“You sure you’re not coming down with something?” She asks patiently, fingers carefully kneading through Sam’s unruly hair. She cracks an eye to stare at Dean over the seat. 

“M’ fide.” Dean mumbles, clearly apprehensive. “Jusd the sdiffles.” He busies himself with changing the radio station, and without even looking, she can feel Sam roll his eyes from against her shoulder. They've been doing this all day now, back and forth like a bad game of capture the flag- she and Sam vs. Dean- beating aimlessly around the elephant of a cold which Dean contracted some three days ago and has yet to admit to having. 

She tries again. ”How about you let me drive for a bit, huh? You can huddle back here with Sasquatch... get some rest... braid Sam's hair--" This earns a punch from Sam and something like a grunt from Dean, but she can't help but chuckle anyway. Dean scowls. Her use of the word “huddle” has him blushing all over again, and he tries to ignore she and Sam’s smug looks from the backseat. 

"I'm fide.” He sniffles as quietly as possible, trying to open up just a little space in his nasal passages to permit soft consonants. “I don’t even have a fever.”

She raises an eyebrow. ”Funny, I don't remember asking.” 

Dean gives her angry eyes through the rear-view mirror, and she shoots her best puppy eyes back. "Come'on, you've been driving for hours." 

Even from the backseat she can see the slight flush of Dean's cheeks, the slightest hint of exhaustion straining against the broad shoulders in front of her. She leans forward and begins to work her hands into his back, kneading away knots and bumps until he moans a little and leans into her touch. She kisses his neck and pretends to not notice the unusual warmth she senses beneath her lips. He squirms slightly and she gives him a reassuring squeeze. 

“Dean, it’s okay, it’s not a big—“

Suddenly he jerks away from her, buries his head in his shoulder and sneezes explosively. They’re quick and muffled, but she can hear him wince, very quietly when it’s over. She ventures a few fingers on his neck when he’s not looking, which confirms a definitely above-average body temperature. 

So much for that nonexistent fever. 

A gas station pulls into view on the left, and she takes this as a sign to act now. 

"Pull over. We need gas." 

Dean eyes her suspiciously, but has to agree after seeing the fuel gauge teetering dangerously close to the “E". His breath hitches slightly as they pull up, but he manages to sniffle away the urge to sneeze. 

“How are you feeling?” She whispers, quiet enough that Sam can’t hear. 

Dean squirms under her gaze, cheeks hit with a flash of pink. 

“M’ fine,” He grumbles, “just leave it alone, okay?”

She’s slightly taken aback, but is too used to Dean to feel offended. “Yeah.” She replies, leaning back into her seat. “Sure. Fine. Whatever.”

They roll into the station a few seconds later, Dean sliding out of the driver's seat and tossing the keys to Sam. 

“Here. Goona go hit the head.” Without another word he stalks off, speed-walking toward the tiny store, not bothering to grab his coat from the front seat. Sam frowns. 

They wait until Dean is out of earshot before speaking. "He's sick." Sam mutters. He kicks the tire half-heartedly. 

"Yeah, I know." She leans against the Impala, tugging her hoodie more tightly around her arms and staring after Dean's retreating figure. "But I figure, he'll make it to Idaho. It's only a few more hours and then we can find somewhere to crash for the night." 

Sam looks skeptical. "What, and you think he's goona be all fine and peachy by tomorrow?" She shrugs. Sam cracks a grim smile. "You've never seen him sick before. It's not pretty, and trust me- he's not goona be better by tomorrow." He huffs. “Whatever. I don’t know why he’s being such a dick about it though. Guy gets sick more than anyone else I know. It’s not like he’s kidding anyone.” 

She shakes her head, watching Dean’s retreating form. “I don’t think it’s that. It’s almost like…” She trails off. 

“What?”

“Like he’s embarrassed.” 

Sam looks skeptical. “Embarrassed? It’s just a cold. Sure, it’s disgusting, but it’s not like it’s a big deal or anything.”

She shrugs. “I’m going to go check on him.”

Sam smirks. “Good luck with that.”

She gives him the finger and Sam rolls his eyes and slides into the driver’s seat. “See if you can sneak some meds into the basket at the checkout.” He shouts afar her. 

She gives a little salute of agreement and walks off in search of Dean. 

He’s not hard to find. The story is empty, leaving few alternative options other than the bathroom, and a few knocks on the door result in a muffled: “occupied” from within. A moment later the door opens to reveal Dean, holding onto the frame and looking slightly worse for the wear. His nose is bright red, and he rubs at it self consciously as he sees her scrutinizing him. 

“What?” He mutters, looking anywhere but her face. “Can’t a guy take a leak in peac….” He trails off, nose scrunching adorably as he twists away from her. He sneezes roughly into his hands, muffling the sound as much as humanly possible through a clenched fist. He pulls away, eyes streaming, and snuffles into his sleeve, looking mortified. He mumbles something unintelligible toward the floor, suddenly very interested in a speck of dirt by her shoe, and she thinks she catches something that sounds like “sorry.” He rubs at his nose again (which is starting to look painful) and blushes for the third time today, looking for all the world like he wishes something would just come put him out of his misery. 

“Hey.” She catches his chin with her finger, forcing him to look up. Green, watery eyes stare back and her briefly, before switching back to the filthy floor. 

“ ‘m sorry,” He croaks. “I’ll bake surd I don’d ged you and Sabby sick too.” He scuffs his shoe on the linoleum, still clinging to the door frame. “Dond worry aboud be, I cad sdill hund and eberything. And I cand drive. If you wand be too.” Dean sways a little, brushing his arm over his forehead to swipe away the perspiration that has formed. 

She frowns. “Hey, hey, Sam and I are just fine, Dean, okay? We just wanna make sure you’re alright. You look like you could use some sleep.” When Dean doesn’t say anything she figures its time to play a different card. 

“It’s not a big deal you know.” She adds. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. It’s just a cold.” 

Dean has become very interested in his shoes. 

“That’s dot whad dad said.”

This strikes her off guard. “What?”

Dean sniffles again, clears his throat painfully, but makes an effort not to vocalize it when he speaks. 

“Dad. He always hated it when we got sick. Either of us, really, but especially me. I mean he needed me, you know? I was like the other parent, and when I was out of commission, who was going to take care of Sam?” Dean shakes his head. “Dad used to yell at me when I got sick. Half the time it was nothing major, just a cold or something, but it just pissed him off beyond belief and he’d just go nuts.” Deans makes a little snorting sound, scoffing at something she cannot see. “Usually he’d just get mad and drag me along, but one day he just…. left. I had pneumonia, probably been brewing for a while. We had to burn a grave in the rain and that was just the final straw. Woke up the next morning feeling like I couldn’t breathe. Dad was pissed.” He pauses to sniffle very quietly, stifles a sneeze between his fingers before continuing. “He swore me out for being such a selfish little bastard, not taking one for the team and sucking it up, and he.…” Dean makes a sweeping motion with his hand, letting it slap against his thigh as it falls. “Just left. Didn’t come home for three days. Sammy got so scared he called 911 and an ambulance took us to the hospital.” Dean has progressively gotten quieter and quieter as the story went on, and finally stops speaking entirely, just staring at the ground. The faintest trace of a tear drips across a freckled cheek, and Dean instinctually swipes it away, embarrassed. “M sorry.”

“Stop it.” She pulls him into a hug, shushing him as he begins to cry against her shoulder. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing at all. Dean cries quietly into her shirt, griping fighting at her waist as they stand together, alone in a nameless gas station. Eventually the tears dry up, and Dean pulls away, sniffling madly as he tries to clear his head of the newfound gunk in his sinuses. Wordlessly, she pulls a box of tissues off the rack next to her and hands it over, expertly ripping off the cardboard top. Dean takes one gratefully and blows, easily plowing through three rounds before feeling like he can breathe again. He glances up at her, sheepish, and she can already see a glimmer of an apology on his lips when she stops him. 

“Don’t.” She takes the tissues in her hands, carefully plucking a few bottles of cold medicine off the opposite shelf and tossing in a box of tylenol for posterity. 

“Everyone gets sick Dean, and everyone deserves to get taken care of from time to time.” She swings an arm around his waist, pulling him close. “Let me take care of you.” He melts a little into her side, coughing stuffily into his shoulder. 

“Okay.” He says after a minute. “Okay.”

She smiles, and Dean smiles back, and they make their way to the register before heading back to the Impala. Sam is sitting in the Driver’s seat with the door open, looking slightly confused, but softens as he sees Dean’s groggy figure clinging to her side. 

“Dean’s going to catch a little shut eye,” She says by way of explanation. Sam looks surprised, but happily complies, going around to the trunk in search of something, as she pulls Dean close to her as they both scoot around in search of a comfortable position. They settle with his head in her lap, feet pressed against the opposite door while she hums and pets his hair. 

“Better?”

“Hell yeah.” Is the sleepy reply, and she can’t help but grin a little as Dean snuggles into her lap. Sam reemerges a moment later holding a blanket, which he tosses over his brother, carefully tucking them in before settling in the front seat. The roar of the engine is soothing, and soon they are on the road, sun just beginning to set across the horizon. Dean’s breath begins to slow, and she herself feels the edge of sleep pull her in. 

“G’night Dean,” she whispers, “We’ll take care of you.”

The sky is purple now, and she is almost completely under when a fuzzy reply rises from the peaceful earth. 

“I know.” Dean says, and then they are both asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my stories seem to end with everyone falling asleep.. hmm. I'll try to get more creative for the next chapter! Thank you all for your feedback and kudos- hope this chapter was worth the wait. :)


	3. Keep on Keep'n On Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by a recent road trip- 12 hours in the car does things to people. I figured, it would only be fair if it could do things to Dean as well. Here is the result.

“Are we there yet?”

“Not quite.” She glances over at Dean, slumped against the passenger’s door, looking like a wrung-out sponge. 

His eyes are glassy, cheeks wan, bundled in some stupidly big hoodie of Sam’s that looks like a fucking poncho on his own, smaller frame. The hoodie is less concerning that the shivering, however, which seems to be enveloping him on more or less the same scale, only without the charming effect of big-brother-in-little-brother’s-clothing. 

She mentally punches herself for not stocking up on ibepfoen. 

He straightens against the seat, sniffling into his left hand and attempting to clear his throat. 

“How much longer?” Dean croaks. She can tell he’s trying not to sound too tired, but even without the faint crackle of phlegm in his chest, she can tell Dean is far from okay. 

She tries to keep her voice cheery, indifferent. “ ‘bout six hours.” 

“Six?”

She nods. “Mm hmm.”

“You sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Oh. Right.” 

She ventures a hand across the bench seat, lacing her fingers with Dean’s and giving a squeeze. 

“How are you feeling?”

“M’okay.” 

“You sure?”

He gives her a look. 

“Pretty sure.” He mocks, and she rolls her eyes. 

“Go to sleep.” She mutters, turning her eyes back to the empty road. “Before you know it, we’ll be there.” 

****************************************

“Hey baby, wake up.” 

A feeble swat. “Go ‘way.”

“Dean, come’on I need you to take these for me. You can go right back to sleep.” 

Dean rolls over to face her, snuffling into Sam’s hoodie. He sounds congested, and the rapid fire coughing that follows sounds unpleasantly thick, like he’s drowning from the inside. She leans over, palm open with three pills melting against her skin, but Dean bats her away. 

“Bove ober,” He grunts, turning his chest away, “Ib gooda….heTCHO! HESHHT! Heh.. heh…” He breaks off into a bit of barking coughs and then another round of sneezing, sounding progressively more congested with each one, until finally it subsides and he sinks back into the apolstery. 

“You done?” She finally murmurs, handing over the pills and a bottle of water. He shakes his head, sniffling unproductively, but still manages to choke down the pills without further incident. 

She instinctively reaches to his cheek, fingers grazing the freckled skin. “You feel warm.”

“Ad I feel lige crap, what do you expegt.” Dean wheezes, chest still heaving from the force of the coughs. There’s no malice in the words, just Dean being grumpy, but still he cracks an eye to make sure she knows he’s just tired, not mad, and she tosses him another bottle of water with a small smile. 

“Is there anything you want, while we’re here?” She asks, gesturing to the small gas station behind them. “I’m going to grab some pretzels, inside.” 

Dean just shakes his head, gingerly heaving himself out of the car. 

“Ib okay. Be righd back.” Clutching the hoodie tightly around him, Dean clomps into the station, trying to ignore the frosty tinge of snow in the air- they are going to make it home tonight, they are going to make it home….

He makes his way to the bathroom, locking the grungy door behind him and trying not to think about all the things that might have gone on in this same 6x6 stall over the years. His nose is still running profusely, and no matter how much he blows it it still feels like it’s full of cement. Uselessly, he sniffles into a wad of paper towels, wincing at the rough material against his raw nose. After several tries he manages nothing more than increasing the pressure in his ears by about a million, so finally he gives up and slumps back to the impala, trying not to let on just how rotten he feels. 

“You ready?” She asks, tucking her beanie more firmly around her ears. Her nose is ever-so-faintly pink from the cold, brow furrowed in concern as he stifles another cough into Sam’s hoodie. 

“All set.” He manages, forcing a smile and climbing into the passengers seat. The weight in his ears is sneaking into his sinuses, and a quiet sniffle confirms that he has gone temporarily deaf on his right side. Great. Glancing over, he realizes she is watching him out of the corner of her eye, fiddling with the heat to make sure he doesn’t succumb to the chills they both know he has. 

“Get some sleep.” She repeats, cranking the air on full blast and dropping a gatorade into his lap without comment. He nods vaguely, closing his eyes to the opening chords of “Highway To Hell”. 

****************************************

“Hey…” 

“Hey sweetheart.” 

“How buch longer?”

“Not too much longer.”

“Beaning…?”

“Maybe four hours.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Go back to sleep.”

“Cand’t.”

“Try.” 

“Cand’t. Eberythidg hurts.”

A rustle of wool, a whiff of woodsmoke and Sammy’s aftershave. 

“Try harder.” She whispers, sounding pained. “I promise we’ll be there soon.”

****************************************

“I cand’t.” 

“Dean I know it hurts I’m so sorry but we have to keep driving.”

“The elevation is baking it worse.”

“I know, baby, I know, but we’ve got to—“

“heTCHOO!” He freezes, eyes squeezed tightly shut, and the faintest whimper fills the car. A swift glance reveals that Dean is holding his breath, tight-lipped, clearly determined not to sneeze and worsen the pain in his head.

“I’m sorry.” She whispers, handing over a box of tissues and trying to ignore the little whimper (a whimper) that just escaped the mouth of Dean Fucking Winchester. He sneezes again. 

“hATSHHT!” 

And again. 

“hACHOO!”

The third one elicits a downright moan, and when she glances over, it is to discover Dean’s hunched form, jaw clenched in pain. 

“Sweetheart…” 

He shakes his head, swiping at a stray tear on his cheek. She reaches over to brush it away for him, but the gesture results in a howl from Dean as she presses against the inflamed skin, prompting another duo of bone-chilling sneezes that leave him crying silently against the window. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry Dean I didn’t mean to—“ She stops herself, turning back to the road, soothing little circles over Dean’s hand and trying to pull them both back together.   
“We’re almost there.” She whispers, though weather to herself or Dean she’s not sure. “Almost there.”

****************************************

Four hours out, the wheezing starts. 

At three, Dean can hardly breathe, for lack of coughing, and the previously subtle rattle has turned into a full-scale bronchial fit. 

At two and a half, she’s starting to think they won’t make it. 

“You still alive?”

She gets a cough in response, deep and wet and— well, not good—sounding, and she feels the beginnings of real panic begin to settle in. 

“Dean, I think we should stop here. We can have Ellen come down and meet us or something. I’m really worried about you, and I think we need to get you to a hospital so they can—“

“NO.” Dean shakes his head frantically, turning away to cough, each breath shaking him to the very core. The trembling from before has intensified, and what little color remained in his cheeks has all but evaporated. “No hospitals.. no, no, no don’t take me there..” He shakes his head. “‘m not going to die there. Not again.” 

Her heart melts at that, and she tucks the blanket from the trunk more tightly around Dean’s shoulders. “Of course you aren’t, baby, you aren’t going to die. Everything’s going to be just fine.” She pulls over to the shoulder, tucking Dean closer to her as the coughing intensifies, great, wheezing gasps that seem to pull all the air from the car, until finally it ceases completely, leaving Dean panting breathlessly against her side, before going limp, eyes fluttering shut without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *laughs evilly* 
> 
> to be continued?


End file.
